Of Agamemnon, who commanded all
The Greeks at Troy.’ And so far, all was well.
But when the gods are adverse, human strength
Cannot prevail; and so it was with him.
For when upon another day, at dawn,
There was to be a contest of swift chariots,
He took his place—and he was one of many:
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One from Achaea,* one from Sparta, two
From Libya,* charioteers of skill; Orestes
Was next—the fifth—driving Thessalian mares;*
Then an Aetolian* with a team of chestnuts;
The seventh was from Magnesia;* the eighth
From Aenia*—he was driving bays;
The ninth was from that ancient city Athens;
The tenth and last was a Boeotian.
They drew their places. Then the umpire set them
Each at the station that had been allotted.
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The brazen trumpet sounded; they were off.
They shouted to their horses, shook the reins;
You could hear nothing but the rattling din
Of chariots; clouds of dust arose; they all
Were bunched together; every driver
Goaded his horses, hoping so to pass
His rival’s wheels and then his panting horses.
Foam from the horses’ mouths was everywhere—
On one man’s wheels, upon another’s back.
So far no chariot had been overturned.
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But now, the sixth lap finished and the seventh
Begun, the Aenian driver lost control:
His horses, hard of mouth, swerved suddenly
And dashed against a Libyan team. From this
Single mishap there followed crash on crash;
The course* was full of wreckage. Seeing this,
730
The Athenian—a clever charioteer—
Drew out and waited, till the struggling mass
Had passed him by. Orestes was behind,
Relying on the finish. When he saw
That only the Athenian was left
He gave his team a ringing cry, and they
Responded. Now the two of them raced level;
First one and then the other gained the lead,
But only by a head. And as he drove,
Each time he turned the pillar at the end,
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Checking the inside horse he gave full rein
To the outer one, and so he almost grazed The stone.* Eleven circuits now he had
Safely accomplished; still he stood erect,
And still the chariot ran. But then, as he
Came to the turn, slackening the left-hand rein
Too soon, he struck the pillar. The axle-shaft
Was snapped in two, and he was flung headlong,
Entangled in the reins. The horses ran
Amok into mid-course and dragged Orestes
Along the ground. O, what a cry arose
From all the company when they saw him thrown!
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That he, who had achieved so much, should meet
With such disaster, dashed to the ground, and now
After a struggle with the horses, checked them
And loosed him, torn and bleeding, from the reins,
So mangled that his friends would not have known
him.
A funeral-pyre was made; they burned the body.
Two men of Phokis, chosen for the task,
Are bringing home his ashes in an urn—
A little urn, to hold so tall a man*—
That in his native soil he may find burial.
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Such is my tale, painful enough to hear;
For those of us who saw it, how much worse!
Far worse than anything I yet have seen.
CHORUS. And so the ancient line of Argive kings
Has reached its end, in such calamity!
CLYTEMNESTRA. O Zeus! Am I to call this happy news,
Or sorrowful, but good? What bitterness,
If I must lose a son to save my life!
TUTOR. My lady, why so sad?
CLYTEMNESTRA.
There is strange power
In motherhood: however terrible
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Her wrongs, a mother never hates her child.
TUTOR. So then it seems that I have come in vain.
CLYTEMNESTRA. No, not in vain! How can you say ‘In vain’
When you have brought to me the certain news
That he is dead who drew his life from mine
But then deserted me, who suckled him
And reared him, and in exile has become
A stranger to me? Since he left this country
I have not seen him; but he charged me with
His father’s murder, and he threatened me*
Such that by day or night I could not sleep
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Except in terror; each single hour that came
Cast over me the shadow of my death.
But now . . . ! This day removes my fear of him—
And her! She was the worse affliction; she
Lived with me, draining me of life. But now
Her threats are harmless; I can live in peace.
ELECTRA. O my Orestes! Here is double cause
For grief: you dead, and your unnatural mother
Exulting in your death! O, is it just?
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CLYTEMNESTRA. You are not! He is—being as he is!
ELECTRA. Nemesis!* Listen, and avenge Orestes.
CLYTEMNESTRA. She has heard already, and has rightly judged.
ELECTRA. Do outrage to me now: your hour has come.
CLYTEMNESTRA. But you will silence me, you and Orestes!
ELECTRA. Not now, alas! It is we that have been silenced.
CLYTEMNESTRA. My man, if you have stopped her mouth, you do
Indeed deserve a very rich reward.
TUTOR. Then I may go back home, if all is well?
CLYTEMNESTRA. Back home? By no means! That would not be worthy
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Of me, or of the friend who sent you here.
No, come inside, and leave this woman here
To shout her sorrows—and her brother’s too!
[Exeunt CLYTEMNESTRA, her servant and the
TUTOR into the palace
How bitterly she wept, how wildly mourned
Her son’s destruction! Did you see it? No,
She left us laughing. O my brother! O
My dear Orestes! You are dead; your death
Has killed me too, for it has torn from me
The only hope I had, that you would come
810
At last in might, to be the avenger of
Your father, and my champion. But now
Where can I turn? For I am left alone,
Robbed of my father, and of you. Henceforth
I must go back again, for ever, into bondage
To those whom most I hate, the murderers
Who killed my father. O, can this be justice?
Never again will I consent to go
Under their roof; I’ll lie down here, and starve,
Outside their doors; and if that vexes them,
Let them come out and kill me. If they do,
820
I shall be glad; it will be misery
To go on living; I would rather die.
[From here until line 870 everything is sung.]
Strophe 1
CHORUS. Zeus, where are thy thunderbolts?
Where is the bright eye of the Sun-
God? if they look down upon this
And see it not.
ELECTRA.
[An inarticulate cry of woe]
CHORUS. My daughter, do
not weep.
ELECTRA.
[Cry, as before]
CHORUS. My child, say nothing impious.
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ELECTRA. You break my heart.
CHORUS.
But how?
ELECTRA. By holding out an empty hope.
Who now can avenge him?
His son Orestes is in his grave.
There is no comfort. O, let me be!
You do but make my grief the more.
Antistrophe 1
CHORUS. But yet, there was a king of old,
Amphiareus:* his wicked wife
Tempted by gold killed him, and yet
Though he is dead . . .
ELECTRA.
[Cry, as before]
840
CHORUS. He lives and reigns below.
ELECTRA.
[Cry, as before]
CHORUS. Alas indeed! The murderess . . .
ELECTRA. But she was killed!
CHORUS.
She was.
ELECTRA. I know! I know! Amphiareus
Had a champion* to avenge him;
But I have none now left to me.
The one I had is in his grave.
Strophe 2
CHORUS. Your fate is hard and cruel.
ELECTRA. How well I know it! Sorrow, pain,
850
Year upon year of bitter grief!
CHORUS. Yes, we have seen it all.
ELECTRA. O offer not, I beg you,*
An empty consolation.
No longer can I look for help
From my noble and loyal brother.
Antistrophe 2
CHORUS. Yet death must come to all men.
860
ELECTRA. But not like this! Dragged along,
Trampled on by horses’ hooves!
CHORUS. No, do not think of it!
ELECTRA. O what an end! In exile,*
Without a loving sister
To lay him in his grave, with none
To pay tribute of tears and mourning.
870
Enter CHRYSOTHEMIS
CHRYSOTHEMIS. Great happiness, dear sister, is the cause
Of my unseemly haste; good news for you,
And joy. Release has come at last from all
The sufferings that you have so long endured.
ELECTRA. And where can you find any help for my
Afflictions? They have grown past remedy.
CHRYSOTHEMIS. Orestes has come back to us! I know it
As surely as I stand before you now.
ELECTRA. What, are you mad, poor girl? Do you make fun
Of your calamity, and mine as well?
880
CHRYSOTHEMIS. I am not mocking you! I swear it by
Our father’s memory.* He is here, among us.
ELECTRA. You foolish girl! You have been listening to
Some idle rumour. Who has told it you?
CHRYSOTHEMIS. No one has told me anything. I know
From proof that I have seen with my own eyes.
ELECTRA. What proof, unhappy girl? What have you seen
To be inflamed with this disastrous hope?
CHRYSOTHEMIS. Do listen, I implore you; then you’ll know
If I am talking foolishly or not.
890
ELECTRA. Then tell me, if it gives you any pleasure.
CHRYSOTHEMIS. I’ll tell you everything I saw. When I
Came near the tomb, I saw that offerings
Of milk had just been poured upon the mound,
And it was wreathed with flowers. I looked, and wondered;
I peered about, to see if anyone
Was standing near; then, as I seemed alone,
I crept a little nearer to the tomb,
900
And there, upon the edge, I saw a lock
Of hair; it had been newly cut.
Upon the moment, as I looked, there fell
Across my mind a picture, one that I
Have often dreamed of, and I knew that these
Were offerings given by our beloved brother.
I took them up with reverence; my eyes